Last night was supposed to be my much-anticipated first date with Chef Marc, only he called in the afternoon with a restaurant emergency, apologized profusely, and asked me if we could postpone for next Saturday. His timing sucks, what with all the Intense-Dave-blowing-me-off he's coming on the heels of, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. If he makes a habit of it, though, he's out. I have a new zero-tolerance policy for flaky men, whatever the excuse.

I decided to have a nice, relaxing night at home instead; glass of wine, order in sushi, watch a chick flick On Demand. Well, I got as far as putting on flannel pajamas, scouring the movie listings and deciding on Georgia Rule, pouring a glass of wine and popping the first bite of spicy tuna roll in my mouth when my home phone rang.

I hurriedly finished my sushi, changed into jeans and a T-shirt, and cleaned up while I waited. I tried to imagine what could have happened, and if it was something with Mikhaila, I prayed that it had nothing to do with me.

About a half-hour later, Brad rang the bell and I buzzed him up. I opened the door and waited, and when his head came up over the top of the staircase, I couldn't believe how bad he looked; red eyes, messy hair, pale. I ushered him inside and poured him a glass of wine while he sank down on my couch and alternated between rubbing his eyes and pulling at the front of his hair. No wonder it looked like that.

"We broke up," he said, finally. His chin started to tremble and I realized that I'd never seen Brad cry before.

I got up from the chair and sat next to him on the couch. I put my arm around him and started rubbing his back. He buried his face in my neck and started sobbing.

When he regained his composure, he told me what had happened. Since the thing with me, Mikhaila had been getting increasingly paranoid, and not just where I was concerned, either. If he was "too nice" to a waitress, she'd accuse him of flirting. She'd check his cell phone to see who had been calling. He suspected she'd been reading his email.

"And the thing is," he continued. "She had no reason to worry. None. I wasn't interested in any other girls. I wasn't interested in you. No offense."

"None taken."

"But we're friends, and when that whole thing happened, I was faced with the possibility of losing my best friend, and it was tough to deal with. I told her that about 100 times, but it never got through."

We talked until neither of us could get a sentence out without yawning. I got him a pillow and blanket and made him a bed on the couch, telling him he could stay as long as he needed to. As I got ready for bed, I wondered if Mikhaila wouldn't have been so insecure if it hadn't been for me. I decided that I didn't want to think about it.